[lenjan]

I posted this in Grief, but someone suggested it might fit here too, and be seen more. So here it is. It's a column I wrote for Sunday's paper. I apologize for the formatting -- I'm too tired and bummed out to take the time to fix it. I couldn't just link to the story because it was in a section we don't post online, and we're not allowed to let non-employees in the internal PDFs of the pages.

Thank you for everyone who replied to me in Grief...I hope this will get some people thinking. -- CB
==========
Mother’s Day was a couple
of weeks ago. My reason to
celebrate it, my son, turned
19 yesterday.
He spent the day several states
away with the woman he calls Mom.
Most of the women in my situation,
women who put their children up for
adoption, spent it alone, wondering,
grieving and unnoticed.
No cards and flowers and brunches
for us — nobody ever thinks of birthmothers
on Mother’s Day. I had to
prod my family for years to get them
even to acknowledge me when it
rolled around. You’d think these
would be more enlightened times,
but most families still prefer to sweep
such things under the rug.
It wasn’t until I wrote a column for
the Milwaukee archdiocesan newspaper,
rebutting a woman who had
written one for pro-life month about
how rosy and wonderful adoption is,
that my parish involved birthmoms
in the annual Mother’s Day blessing
at Mass. Even the church forgets us.
If I had a nickel for every person
who’s told me I’m “not really a parent”
because I chose to give my son a
better shot at life when I was young
and stupid and had been abandoned
and was living on minimum wage,
I would be a rich woman and more
easily able to afford the antidepressants
and the decade of therapy I’ve
put in trying to deal with it all.
When I held a temporary job at
Catholic Charities in Milwaukee several
years ago, I filled in for someone
who worked in the child welfare
area. You know what the child welfare
area does? Adoptions.
So when I was bored, I would
look through files of couples waiting
to adopt a child. Each family
put together a booklet about itself,
whether a young, childless couple or
a family hoping to adopt siblings for
a previously adopted child.
There were photos of beautiful
homes and friendly, fluffy dogs and
big back yards to play in. There was
financial data, so the birth mom
could be sure she was placing her
child with a family who could afford
the cost of raising one. There were
pictures of grandparents and family
picnics and all the wonderful things
the child would get if he or she were
placed with any number of wonderful
families.
I spent a lot of time in tears on
that job because I got none of that
when I put my son up for adoption.
Mine was a closed adoption, which
aren’t as common nowadays. I wasn’t
allowed any identifying information.
I didn’t get to meet the adoptive
parents or pick them out of a book.
I had to put something down on the
original birth certificate, which later
was court-sealed, and I couldn’t
even know what my son was named,
much less where he lived. Any communication
with the family had to
be brokered through the adoption
agency.
Life has changed a lot since May
26, 1988. So has technology. Through
a few clues and some Internet sleuthing,
my son’s adoptive mom tracked
me down in March 2004.
Luckily, I still was around to see
it happen. A month prior I’d been
in a psychiatric hospital on suicide
watch. That’s not uncommon for
birth moms either.
Over the last three years, we’ve
all gotten to know each other some.
I have a photo album covering birth
to age 16 and get more recent photos
fairly frequently. (I’d show you one,
but he’s currently in his hippie musician
mode, and it’s kind of embarrassing
to have a boy whose hair is
longer than your own.)
When he turned 18 last year, one
of his gifts from his parents was the
freedom to communicate with me
via his e-mail account, instead of
having to hide behind theirs. Right
now I’m trying to mend his first-love
broken-heart syndrome and probably
failing miserably. But at least I
have the opportunity to give it a shot.
Most birth moms don’t.
I’ve no idea what the future holds.
I’ve already gotten more than I ever
dreamed.
I hope someday I’ll get to hug my
boy and tell him I love him to his face.
In the meantime, I hope to raise
awareness. Next year, when Mother’s
Day rolls around, take a minute
to think of and thank the best moms
of all.

(((((((((Candybear))))))))))

[Direction]

Thanks for sharing. Both my parents were adopted and my ex was adopted. This gave me a lot to think about.